


What Loss Your Honor May Sustain

by AngryKoala



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Abortion, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, Gen, Internal Monologue, Internalized Misogyny, Ophelia as a victim of patriarchy, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryKoala/pseuds/AngryKoala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look inside Ophelia's head as she takes abortifacients. Takes place shortly after Act 1 scene 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Loss Your Honor May Sustain

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Hamlet fic, but I've interpreted Ophelia's character like this since playing her 11 years ago. I believe that Ophelia was pregnant at the beginning of the play and her subsequent abortion was the first in the series of events leading to her demise.

Ophelia spent very little time pondering her desires. What she wanted was irrelevant. She was a lady of noble birth and she did as she was told. Noble ladies were supposed to be beautiful little painted puppets on strings, completely subservient to the men who controlled their every move. When the puppeteers were at odds with each other, puppets might be torn or broken in the struggle, but never did anyone ask for their opinion. Ophelia was fairly certain that the men in question did not even consider the possibility that she had opinions. 

But today she felt her wants creeping out from the very deep place where they were locked away. It was disheartening. Ophelia was afraid that somehow someone would catch her wanting this for herself and she would be ruined forever.

And she would be, but the wanting was beside the point. 

No one could ever know that Hamlet had gotten her with child. Her soiled and ruined reputation would ruin everything for her family. The shame of disappointing her father and brother would probably kill her. And if that somehow failed, it would be the overwhelming sadness if Hamlet rejected her and his child. 

Ophelia admonished herself. There will be no child. Her eyes automatically landed on the tea cup in front of her. 

Ophelia's love for Hamlet was perhaps expected given her natural predilection for pleasing others. Hamlet was unpleasable. He was too involved in his inner turmoil to truly appreciate her attempts at affection. The challenge of making him love her was more attractive to Ophelia than his handsome face or beautiful deep-blue eyes. 

Hamlet had always been moody and prone to melancholy. But Ophelia had sympathized with him when the old King Hamlet died. She would be so lost without her father. She listened intently as he talked about his feelings. And he loved to talk. Even when his words were dramatic declarations of eternal love and devotion, it seemed to Ophelia that that he was more in love with the sound of his own voice than he ever would be with her. She was more of a concept than a person to him, and of course a puppet that he amused himself with. But she could accept that, as long as he kept talking to her. She loved him, and wanted to be with him, but above all Ophelia wanted approval.

She had thought that one day she could try hard enough, and be a good enough painted puppet for him. He would reward her with genuine love and affection. But her hopes for this day were slipping away. 

It would surely never come if she kept entertaining the thought of holding a child of her own in her arms. A strong boy, with her own wild curls and Hamlet's blue eyes. Eyes that would finally look at her with genuine love. 

Ophelia pushed the image away by picking up the little tea cup she had been staring at. It felt cold in her hands. 

She told herself again that she was not allowed to want this. Her father and brother would be shamed for life. She could imagine their eyes knowingly seeing her as the dirty and used up disappointment that she was. And that was if they ever looked at her again. Like as not she would be discarded as a puppet whose strings had frayed and broken. She would be sent away in her disgrace and failure to obey their wishes and God's laws. With no home and no family, how could she provide for this child? 

She knew what women in her situation resorted to, but even in her private thoughts she couldn’t acknowledge it. She was a lady of good breeding and she did only as she was told. Even in her private thoughts she tried to maintain the mask of innocence. 

She looked to her kettle, and then down at the little dried leaves in her cup. The mask of innocence came at a high price. It was almost time. 

She had, of course, only done what was asked of her. Hamlet had begged her, and had she any choice but to give him what he wanted? Hamlet was a prince. That she loved him was beside the point. She could never have denied him. Ophelia was not built for saying no to men. It went against everything she believed about the world and about herself to look a prince of the blood in the eye and tell him no. 

But now a month had gone by and Hamlet wasn't anywhere nearer to loving her than he had been the day she gave away her virtue. He seemed quite a bit further away from his own mind. He acted erratically and wasn't discreet about his emotions. Her family noticed, and it was cause for concern. 

Her quest for approval took an unexpected turn when her much loved brother Laertes spent the last hour of his visit with her and inadvertently called her a poisoned flower, ruined before she ever had a chance to bloom. His words were like a dagger, but she had to keep smiling because that was what she did. She couldn't let him know how ruined she was. She couldn't disappoint him and lose his love and support forever. 

After he was on his way, her father rambled on in a plainer and less sympathetic tone about his disapproval of her relationship with Hamlet. He demanded that she distance herself. He was never as gentle with her as Laertes. His acceptance was harder to attain. But she longed for it all the same. All she could say was "I shall obey, my lord."

In obeying all of these men, in doing just as she was told, she had somehow come to this place of staring at a little cup of dried herbs meant to put an end to the little blue eyed boy who she wanted. 

But Ophelia was born to please, not to want. So she poured hot water from her kettle over the rue and drank it down.


End file.
